


Sugar Skull

by cortchuzska



Series: Dornish wit [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Canon Compliant, Crack, Humor, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-29
Updated: 2012-06-29
Packaged: 2017-11-08 20:10:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/447043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cortchuzska/pseuds/cortchuzska
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><em></em><br/>"Even death is not sacred to a Dornishman.”</p><p>Ser Gregor's skull enjoying his new life in Dorne</p>
            </blockquote>





	Sugar Skull

“ _All skulls grinned, but this one seemed happier than most.”_

Have you ever been cooped up into a latched, black felt stuffed chest, which size would barely fit my little brother, and tossed from King's Landing, up and down the Boneway, Dorne passes, and the deep sands?

It gets stuffy inside, Ser. Take my word. A skull can't even break a sweat. It was about time they opened the damn box. Were you in my bones, you would be happy too, to be sure.

Even late Lord Tywin smiled on his bier much more than in his whole life; and his was a funeral. Mine is a feast! and I am the life and the soul of the party. So I will grin as wide as it pleases me.

 _Cheese_.

Never been at the centre of any feast before, Ser. At least, before I came to Dorne.

“ _You feed your dog bones under the table, you do not seat him beside you on the high bench”_

That's it. Add a sullen look, a bulk too large to gracefully dance, no talent for conversation. Not really a party animal, Ser.

Here even lesser lordlings went out of their way to throw a banquet, a hunt, a joust in my honour. Isn't that flattering? Hospitable people, I reckon; the Dornish are growing on me. Quite not the same thing _inside_ the box, though.

Will you grudge me a bit of fun, once in life I'm really enjoying myself at a party?

As to the fact an empty skull should not feel nor think, ask Qyburn. He is the smart guy. I've never found what was _inside_ me of much use, truth be told.

When they finally decided set me free, I was giddier than a damsel at her first ball. It took him _hours_ to unlatch my chest. The idiot was even a maester.

Too clumsy to open the box, too short to put me on my stand. _Don't you even dare drop me down before the whole court!_

A tall, wiry wench approaches. Just my kind of babe. And no, not because I've been locked in and I have not seen a woman in months...

Strong, secure hands lift me up. I like me a girl with a firm hold. My saviour. Any chance for a kiss?

No, bugger. I would shake my head if I had a neck. Never had any luck with Dornishwomen, Ser.

She raises me atop a marble column; no doubt, a place of high standing. I enjoy a commanding view of the hall; I let my gaze leisurely wander.

By the way, it's full of chicks, this Dorne. And scantily clad ones at that...

A pity my present condition doesn't allow me to fully savour the banquet. But I'm not forgotten; they are serving sugar skulls as dessert, in my honour. Isn't that sweet? I would shed some tears, if a skull had eyes. I can't help graciously smiling.

Obviously, just when the party is getting really _hot, I_ have to leave. _In the idiot's hands._ There are five ladies with us, to no one of which I would object, and guess who is cradling me? The maester!

My saviour rescues me from him, casts me a lingering look and gives me a kiss.

Where have you been, the rest of my life? I like this one. Too shy to kiss me before everyone, weren't you?

“ _Ser Gregor does look lonely, he would like some company, I’m certain.”_

I agree. Are you volunteering, sweetling? You're not the only one, though; another one caresses me. I had no idea I could be such a hit-on.

“ _Can I take a skull to bed with me, to give me comfort in the night?”_

And the moron of me never believed any tale about lewd Dornishwomen before! Just because as a boy I chanced upon the _only_ one who wasn't.

Typical of my bad luck, Ser. Always been a loser, with ladies. But as a skull, that's going to change. All it's needed, it seems, is a cheerful appearance.

“ _Will it make me laugh, write me songs, care for me when I am old and sick?”_

 _What_? Forget about it, woman. Is it my doing your lover was a half-wit without sense enough to put on at least a half-helm instead of removing his visor? You are a hottie, but way too demanding. I'm no Prince Rhaegar, nor a nurse. Comfort in the night, so far so good; but I did never make anyone laugh...

 


End file.
